A Perfect Union
by Bmansin
Summary: This project is a more naturalistic rendition of Disney's "The Fox and the Hound" (1981), an underappreciated childhood family classic. It provides an entirely different perspective of the story, composed in a style much like that of the original author of the novel, Daniel P. Mannix. It starts with the origins of each fox, then connects their fates. I hope you enjoy.
1. I: The Twilight Huntress

I: The Twilight Huntress

The first rays of sunlight permeated from beyond the forest's horizon, diffusing through layers of dense vegetation, including the fresh green leaves of the sycamores and oaks. It was the dawn of a new day. An eloquent staccato of chirping songbirds sounded overhead. On the forest floor, below the dew-dribbled bushes and thistles carpeting the meadows, was a cottontail rabbit. It foraged attentively beneath the twilight mist, nibbling at the wildflowers and grasses flourishing within the rich topsoil.

The rabbit paused for a moment, searching its proximity for any imminent dangers. Its head was raised; mounting two vertically elongated ears. They scanned the atmosphere for the slightest disturbance: any unwarranted vibration or faint rustle within the foreground. Having detected nothing, the rabbit eased its tension and returned to its quiet activity.

Within an instant, a terrifying flash of bright red-orange loomed over the hapless quarry. Instinctively, the rabbit's forelegs discharged like compressed springs, vaulting its body forward. Such an action was without any mental processing; its body acted autonomously to evade the ambush.

Unfortunately, the vixen had timed her attack perfectly: she had aimed for the forelegs of the rabbit, expecting her prey's reflexes to jolt it about six inches ahead of its initial position. Her movements were swift and extremely efficient; it was as if every joule of kinetic energy was dedicated towards minimizing the effort needed. Like a ballistic missile, she intercepted her target at the exact location intended, approximately two and a half meters northeast of her take off. The parabolic trajectory of her leap was magnificent; her long luxuriant brush flung upwards as she pounced her helpless quarry. With excellent dexterity, she focused the momentum of her supple body at her forelegs, effectively pinning the target upon impact.

The rabbit squirmed under immense pressure, jolting in almost any direction in a desperate attempt to break free. The vixen, however, wasted no time: she then silenced her prey with a timely precision nip, snapping its spinal cord. The hunt was over.

* * *

Whether the prized rabbit was paralyzed or dead was hard to determine; it hung limply in her mouth as she effortlessly carried it to one of her many caching locations, about a quarter mile east of the meadows. There, she began to feast on her prize, indulgently ripping apart the rabbit's loins and completely devouring its left hind leg. Her sharp, incisive canines served her well. The rabbit was definitely lifeless by now.

Her morning hunger was more than adequately satiated, for she intuitively begun to dig, unearthing one of her favorite spots. After overturning approximately a cubic foot of soft mud, moisturized by the morning dew that had permeated through the dewy topsoil, the vixen delicately placed the half-eaten remains within. She then buried her unfinished meal, lightly compressing the soil on top in order to preserve the carrion by minimizing the atmospheric oxygen that interacted with it. After briefly memorizing the specific location of her cache, she continued towards the next phase of her morning routine.

For the next half hour the vixen systematically scouted the perimeter of her territory, using her keen auditory and olfactory senses to detect even the slightest dangers. While she may be a fierce huntress, there always existed potential dangers that could invade her range. An abundant variety of more fearsome carnivorous mammals shared her habitat, including wolves, mountain lions, black bears, bobcats, and coyotes. She also had to worry about potential territorial disputes with other foxes; this included protective fox families and barren vixens who would viciously assault her over the most diminutive squabbles. And, of course, there always existed the threat of man: his treacherous combustible weapons, his loyal and menacing canine servants, and his insidious, yet inanimate, steel jaws, hidden and laced with seductive fragrances.

Fortunately for her, this morning, all was quiet on the western front. She quietly meandered through the forest along multiple known animal highways, systematically visiting each of the dozens of keystone locations that formed the edge of her range's boundary line. She stopped for a few moments at each checkpoint, reconnoitering the post for any irregularities within her parish, and then methodically marked it. In order to maintain her territorial establishment, this process had to be done at least three times a week due to the volatility of her urine. She needed to assert her presence towards potential competitors. Securing a staple food supply from the limited resources available within her district was a constant responsibility. Her survival depended on it.

After reinforcing her territorial beacons, she supplemented her morning diet by foraging through wild berries. Because it was spring, a wide variety of bushes, shrubs and trees were blooming with an abundance of nourishing fruits. Of these, the vixen gorged on black berries, apples, and wild strawberries.

She always had to keep her wits about her, even when feeding on harmless vegetation. For instance, she had to be extremely careful when eating apples, cherries, peaches, plums, and apricots. Her prudency in this endeavor heavily focused on avoiding accidental ingestion of seeds, and she was very particular in detecting the slightest taste of bitterness. Indeed, she was very wise in her heeding of the plants' gustatory warnings, for extreme bitterness within wild fruits is highly indicative of the cyanide anion, a substance known to be lethal to any complex aerobic organism.

Of course, being that she was prudent about her consumption of fruits from apparently benignant plants, she yielded extreme caution when eating fungi. This was especially the case when foraging among conspicuously colored mushrooms, such as the fly agaric, whose outlandish displays blatantly spelled death. She also took specific care and attention to the death caps, whose white colorations bore a strong semblance to more common, edible field mushrooms.

Once adequately satiated, the vixen rested in accordance to her nocturnal tendencies: she napped just before sun begun its prominence in the clear blue sky. She was quite exhausted; her body needed rest in order to digest and metabolize the nutrients she consumed. She wallowed flatly beneath some shrubbery; her creamy white belly relaxed on the shaded soil that was still moist, and silently dozed off as the lazy afternoon bore on.

* * *

The loud cracking of thunder abruptly interrupted her long daytime slumber. It was almost dusk, and the cold humidity within the atmosphere had increased significantly. Without any second thought, the vixen headed straight to her earth, at the center of an established game preserve, structured beneath a giant oak leaning slightly on the side of a hill. She never considered the possibility of rain today; otherwise she would not have undertaken the cumbersome chore of reestablishing her territorial markings. The rain would simply wash away all her efforts; and she would need to once again reiterate them. It was truly a pain.

Nevertheless, she was grateful for the sufficient shelter her den provided from the weather. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to endure the night outside, alone, within the freezing rainstorm. The compacted soil served her well in insulating her body warmth, generating a temperate and cozy ambience within the burrow. She sprawled languidly about the comfortably dry floor, her legs astride, gazing into the torrential downpour through a small aperture, which served as the entrance of her dwelling.

Suddenly, a poignant feeling of hopelessness and despondency drowned her thoughts. Honestly, she had almost everything a fox could ever wish for: a secure territorial hunting ground, a reliable source of food, a suitable abode, and an impressive arsenal of survival skills and a solid foundation of intelligence and guile. Really, in light of these considerable successes in life, this forlorn feeling of failure and inadequacy was uncalled for.

Yet, somehow, somewhere deep inside her heart, she felt as if she was missing something. It was something critical, something so important that her failure to acquire it had completely overshadowed all her other achievements, and undermined self-confidence they generated. It was almost as if the world was mockingly cruel to her, by granting her all of these desirable assets and material comforts but denying her this one thing.

Her attention transitioned to the inside of her humble dwelling. Every sound she made, no matter how soft or inaudible, echoed in the stillness. Despite its relatively cramped quarters, the interior appeared increasingly cavernous and vacant.


	2. II: Her Origins

II: Her Origins

She was born in an earth located approximately six kilometers south of the game preserve. An invisible yet comforting entity carefully nuzzled her, reassuring her security. It spoke in a soft and understanding voice, which mingled with the fading echoes of infantile whimpering.

_Welcome, little one. This is your first day. Your destination will be the nursery compartment at the back end of the main corridor in our den, to the left. We expect great things from you._

She was one of a litter of five kits, with two brothers and two sisters. She can still vividly remember the earliest days of her infancy, cuddled up closely in an indiscernible bundle of dark brown fur balls with tiny snouts. At first, she was a helplessly blind whelp, completely dependent upon the nourishment provided by a warm lactic dispenser, an unseen benefactor she did not question. Along with her mewling siblings, she wholly embraced the thermally insulated body whose ruffled fur was somewhat abrasive, albeit comforting. She knew not what to make of her circumstances, but instinct told her to simply whimper and cuddle during the fluctuating periods of consciousness within her infancy, completely reliant on the loving and omnipotent force in her service.

Gradually, her vision developed, and everything began to slowly materialize around her. The quiet comfort and safety of Mother's warm snow-white ruff amidst the darkness, save a mysterious window of light gleaming at the edge of the world, was the only life she had known for her first few weeks. The milky-screened, sparkly light-blue eyes she viewed the small underground world through only helped to strengthen the fastidious care and attention she received, for it made her appear that much more adorable and precious in the eyes of Mother.

Every once in a while, that continuous stream of radiance was interrupted, and a glaring silhouette of another figure similar to mother's size had stopped by the entrance of the den, only for an instant, to leave behind a generous ration of its latest kill. It heeded well in leaving almost instantaneously, for any protracted visit to the den would incur the ill-tempered wrath of Mother, whose current unpredictable, reactive behavior was a serious force of nature. Deep within her was the gut instinct that no living thing, except her own self, must ever get near those defenseless whelps; and that she must never leave the den for any reason, with the sole exception of her biological necessities. Only then would Mother leave her kits for the briefest moment: just to slake her thirst at a nearby rill, then swiftly retrieve the indispensable package and devour its contents.

Eventually, Mother stopped nursing her cubs. To provide for them, she simply dragged in the kill and ripped the meat apart, allowing the vixen kit and her siblings contend for the resulting scraps in a first-come first-serve basis. Through this friendly competition amongst her siblings, a familial hierarchy had already been established. Fortunately, she was the most assertive of her sisters in each scuffle and, in many cases, closely rivaled the most vigorous of her brothers.

Unbeknownst to the wooly kit, the survival of Mother, as well as that of her brothers and sisters, depended on those handouts. It wasn't until she was nearly four weeks old did she discover the supplier of these essentials. One of her brothers, the largest of her siblings, decided it was time to leave and mustered the courage to enter the luminous portal, exiting the earth. It wasn't long until she, along with the rest of the siblings, followed suit. As she entered the blinding light she was confounded by the intensity of the outside world.

Coincidentally, there stood a magnificent dog fox sitting patiently near the entrance, his beautiful white-tipped tail elegantly curled around the front of his darkened forelegs. A partially eaten rabbit hung limply in his mouth; the vixen cub's favorite meal. It was Father. He was waiting for his mate to approve of his feeding before releasing the burden.

Eagerly, the young vixen and all her siblings romped about him, waiting for the opportunity at first dibs. The smell of fresh meat was intoxicating. Mother appeared shortly at the entrance; her overprotective vigilance quickly allayed by the endearing sight of her scrupulous mate. With a maternally stern yet thankful bark, she authorized the feeding frenzy. In an instant, the cubs jaw-gripped and dismembered the body, violently tugging and pulling each limb apart like a pack of ravenous wolves, each brother and sister wrestling for his or her morsel of the prey.

Afterwards, she spent the next quarter hour in gleeful frolic. Scuffling with her siblings, she engaged in a number of spirited games that included, but were not limited to, whimsically fighting over possession of inedible remains of past meals, such as ruffled feathers and desiccated bones; unbounded scuffling with her siblings in a jubilant manner; chasing Mother's tail; and frivolously gamboling about the forest within close proximity to the den, investigating each and every peculiarity within the nearby brushes and tall grasses. While these activities mainly consisted of jubilant play, they actually served as vital precursors to the invaluable hunting skills the she and her siblings would need to develop in order to survive.

Father stood firmly atop the hill, an obstinate sentinel on the lookout for any potential dangers during this vulnerable situation. Mother walked over to him and commended his efforts with an affectionate nuzzle. Together, they proudly overlooked their energetic cubs, the result of their combined parental efforts.

* * *

Days grew into weeks, and weeks compounded into months, as the idyllic doorway scene repeated itself many times throughout the late spring and early summer. The cubs were becoming increasingly boisterous and energetic, and with that vim came the extra responsibility for Mother in supervising their gamboling and frivolous excursions outside of the den. Regulating their activities was becoming an increasingly demanding chore, requiring her unremitting attention to the frolicsome youngsters, who were still extremely vulnerable to the dangers that lurked just beyond the gradually sloped hillside that veiled the den's entrance. Multiple times throughout the day, she would have to herd some worrisome cub that meandered too far from the den's entrance, sometimes forcibly transporting it by the scruff of the neck. As the frequency of these habitual wanderings elevated, it became increasingly obvious that she was engaged in a losing battle.

In addition to her cumbersome parental duties, Mother was relentlessly hassled, for the cubs would harvest every particle of enjoyment out of anything they could accomplish with their blissful youth and jubilance. They would frivolously pounce upon her soft, snowy-white fur, a feat that was more amicable than practical in training their hunting skills. After realizing how ineffective their haphazard assaults were against the impervious mass of their prey, a few of the scruffy, juvenile participants cleverly devised a plan. They began to time their vaults more synchronously, progressively decreasing the interval of respite between each furry bombardment. Eventually, with the combined momentum of their hurdled bodies, three of the collaborators managed to tackle her!

The wanton cubs delighted themselves in this brief moment of victory: their successful hold of Mother was very short-lived. With a sudden flail she extricated herself and, to their severe disappointment, sent the three captors flying in their respective directions.

During her tumultuous liberation, as she was treading away to sprawl her enervated body away from the commotion, Mother was suddenly surprised to realize that her tail had been caught! Such a feat was remarkable in the light that none of her cubs had been able to accomplish this yet within the fox family. She turned her head to eye the culprit: the sprightliest of her daughters, the young vixen whose flocculent garb was now molting into an auspicious, bright red-orange hue. As it turned out, she opportunistically latched onto Mother's tail when she turned around and relaxed her guard.

Of all her cubs, this daughter was Mother's favorite. She was gifted with a precocious level of intelligence and guile that had the promising foundation of a skilled hunter. Although not the strongest amongst the litter, she was keen and resolute especially when it came to pouncing. For these reasons, Mother gave her a quick yet subtle glance of approval, which the young vixen acknowledged and accepted gingerly, then jolted foreword and expelled her distinctive daughter. By now Mother was thoroughly exhausted, and was anxiously awaiting her mate's arrival.

* * *

When Father arrived, the cubs were still rambunctious enough to bite and nip at his ruffled fur, elated by his presence. They felt secure in his nearness, willing to roam further into the outskirts of the den in order to intercept his arrival with lolling tongues and infantile barking. They scurried beneath his ebon legs and cavorted about him, desperately competing for attention. He was initially second in command when it came to raising the youngsters, evident by the fact that he was viciously forbidden from entering the den while they were blind sucklings. However, as a result of his faithful devotion to the family as a staple benefactor of food and tireless sentinel, in conjunction with Mother's increased confidence in her cubs' ability to survive outside the den, Father was promoted to an equal standing in family affairs.

The sprawling puppies, having had more than enough of Mother, rose up and smothered Father like a swarm of fleas transiting from one host to another. It was a puppy-like frolic of welcome, one that even invoked a hidden, yet poignant sense of jealousy within Mother. To him, however, this was insufferable torture; for Father could bear far less abuse from the cubs than his mate, whose attachment to them was much more instinctive.

Why, naturally, had he been any ordinary dog fox, he would have no qualms in shirking this superfluous responsibility by vacating the den's precincts in order to recuperate in the privacy of his own abode, situated on a rocky hilltop no more than one hundred meters northwest of the den. However, his dedication to the family outweighed his discomfiture with the cubs, so he yielded a few golden minutes of paternal love for playtime and fondling. Of all the games he played with them, tag was by far his most favorite, for its primary objective was to minimize the physical contact he receive from those insufferable little youngsters.

They had been irrepressibly waiting for this moment, having barely been able to bear protracted lengths of his absence from the den. Fortunately for them, his absences indicated he was an industrious father who would hunt frequently and take on taxing travails in order to provide for his family.

The strongest and most observant brother of the pack, the ablest sibling who seemed to be gifted with superior traits, was the first to notice something different about this particular episode: Father carried no meal this time, however, the fresh scent of a feathery partridge still lingered from his whiskered muzzle.

At first, the perceptive cub was both baffled and disappointed by this aberration. Did his father fail the family this time? Has he disgracefully returned to the den seeking forgiveness after an unsuccessful hunt? Or, perhaps he may have caught a small partridge, but, having succumbed to his hunger and been thoroughly jaded by his familial responsibilities, decided to devour the entire lot and leave not a morsel for the family!

Soon all five of the cubs were perplexed and unsettled by the same quandary; the younger brother and the sprightly young vixen sat down with an attentive but perturbed posture, while their two younger sisters were fretting uncontrollably. The daughters paced around in circles and squealed nervously, impatiently awaiting some outcome.

Fortunately, their misgivings were dispelled by a reassuring look from their father, followed by his mellow bemusement. Father nonchalantly ambled over to his mate and softly communed with her, as if to inform her of something or request some kind of approval.

Together, the parents approached and nipped at their cubs, as if to get them to do something. Of course, the sharpest brother was the first to take the hint correctly and, with keen observation, noticed a bundle of partridge giblets deliberately littered on the sod fifty feet away from him, just over the steep knoll that shielded the den's entrance.

He bounded over to this ration and gobbled it in a matter of seconds, knowing that competition would soon arise: weak traces of his Father's scent trails hinted him towards other morsels. As it turned out, Father did indeed bring back a sufficient meal for his progeny, however, he didn't intend to distribute it through handouts anymore. The cubs were maturing rapidly and, being fed adult-size meals, needed to be taught adult-like models of obtaining these meals. The other eager cub siblings ascertained this conditional method of feeding and aptly followed suite in scrambling through the meadows, much like human children engaged in an Easter-egg hunt.

The wiliest of the cubs learned to follow the footsteps of Father in order to discover the hidden tidbits, a method that proved to be far more effective than blindly scouring the surface world at full speed, peering into every perceivable nook and cranny. Competition amongst the siblings now became a prominent aspect within their lives. Simply put, the objective of the game was to seek or go hungry.

In the natural world, whenever a controlled environment of equal opportunity and differential capability is presented amongst competitors, there is almost never an equal distribution of resources. The strongest and brightest fellow of the bunch, whose greater abilities could best find him the cached food positioned by his parents, received the greatest and choicest morsels. It was he who had been the first at investigating the luminescent outside world. It was he who first discovered, during frolicsome playtime within the grass stems and flowerbeds, that catching beetles and crickets and butterflies could provide a delightful supplementation to their daily meals provided by Father. It was by no surprise then that, every time, this adroit prodigy received the gold medal, while his younger brother and sprightly sister closely contended for the silver and bronze.

In addition, because his ability to find the food faster than his siblings yielded him a disproportionately greater amount of nourishment, his growth was accelerated faster than the others. This only served to further steepen the inequality of capability between the siblings.

By the time his parents started to bring live prey for the cubs to practice their craft on, he was by far the keenest in capturing the mice and shrews that were deployed within the burrow. Father was very proud of him, as most of the parental anticipation about his progeny he indulged in was directed towards this son. His wooly coat had molted into a conspicuous dark red hue, an unequivocal indicator of his prodigious strength and vitality.

Despite the serious competition that ensued between one another during these drills, the siblings still maintained a relatively harmonious and contented family relationship. In fact, the red-orange sister more often regarded her more precocious brother as a role model rather than a detestable competitor. He seemed the least addled and scatter-brained when reacting to a call of distress, caution, or vigilance from either parent, and was always intent on finding out what was expected of him first. Even during frivolous playtime outside of the feeding, she paid close attention to his observant behavior, his astute reflexes, and his notable watchfulness. With that, she aptly profited from the liberty of having three teachers amongst her veteran parents and astute brother. Aside from that, however, the young vixen still managed to get an immense amount of fun with her family within the warm summer world.


	3. III: The Beginning

III: The Beginning

As the late summer phased into the early autumn, so did the next stage of the young vixen's education as a capable independent. She had begun to observe the outside world with more curious eyes, and felt a profound disposition to wander off from the earth and explore the woods. A couple of her siblings, namely her two brothers, also felt these urges intensely. The parents were already aware of this natural hankering, and were well prepared to take them hunting with them. When they first understood this new development, the young foxes pranced around with excitement and anticipation.

This time, however, was the most fraught and unnerving for Mother, for she knew all too well the inexplicable dangers that lay ahead for them. Many creatures out there would easily make quarry of a young and inexperienced fox, and she hoped to prevent any dreadful casualties. In truth, she wanted to protect them, forever, from all the terrible things in life, to keep them as they were – innocent and happy – and never let them go out into a world of harsh reality. It was the impossible dream of all mothers, a forlorn fantasy that would be inevitably disillusioned. She knew she would have to make a compromise with reality, so she ultimately settled with a series of severely pragmatic and unadulterated briefings before taking them out to hunt with her.

_You have been born into dangerous times. A sharp mind can be the key to survival… _

While she had always been a loving and affectionate mother, she could easily double as a cold and inexorable instructress. She first began by lecturing her cubs in a tone that was solemn, straightforward, almost dour and regimented because, to her, survival skills were never a matter of fun and games. She wanted to lay down all the facts at face value, and let them understand the severity of these invaluable life lessons.

_…But, as often as not, it will be your inherent physical traits that get you through the day…_

From the very start of her decision into parenthood, Mother always took into consideration the survival of her offspring. She was an intelligent vixen with substantial experience. The generous liberty and permission she allowed during their playtime had its function: it allowed them to be constantly active throughout their early youth, providing the exercise necessary to be in prime physical condition. Even the selection of her mate was calculated to some degree; he had to meet a minimum standard of both physique and survivability, in addition to demonstrating reliability. Through some means of behavioral gauging or marital confidence, the dog fox had to prove his loyalty to her; for the last thing a vixen mother would want out of a relationship is to be left in the lurch with a litter of cubs and no provider of food when it is most needed. If he were to be killed valiantly defending her or the newborn cubs, then that, unfortunately, could not be helped. However, being abandoned by a heartless reprobate is absolutely unacceptable, and can be completely avoided. In light of these strict parameters, she was very wise and somewhat fortunate enough to have secured an ideal mate; one who exhibited both a firm devotion to her and a desirable physique, coupled with his innate talents and capabilities to support that devotion.

_…And, in this regard, you will be superior to your more common woodland inhabitants._

In the weeks preceding their first hunting trip, Mother had supervised their practice on live field mice at a time she knew of their abundance, within the meadows just outside of the den. She wanted to make sure her young were well fitted with the basic movement and precision skills necessary to hunt live prey outside of the earth, and this controlled setting served as an ideal preparatory test site. To her immense satisfaction, each of the youngsters was able to catch at least two field mice.

_For you are a red fox, a versatile predator, something truly special. Your sharp canines, your nimble bodies, and most importantly, your instinct._

To top off the preliminary training sessions the learning youngsters underwent, both parents arranged a surprise for them on the last night preceding their first real hunting trip. Mother gathered the five anticipant fledglings inside the den. It was the last time all seven members of the family would all be together inside the den. With a high-pitched, banshee shriek, she signaled the father to come in. At that moment, Father carefully ambled into the occupied chamber, evidently burdened by a large muskrat he snatched from the edge of a local brook.

It had been industriously crunching its powerful, beaver teeth onto hard clamshells by the water's edge, when a flash of flame red from behind had overtaken it by surprise. The potentially dangerous herbivore was rendered helpless, held by the neck by the dexterous dog fox. Over the hills and far away, it went for a terrifying joy ride unlike any other; Father carried the squirming muskrat, as if it were one of his own young, to the outskirts of the den and then stationed himself there, awaiting his promptings.

The cubs were first surprised at how fearsome a prey the muskrat turned out to be, once it was successfully deployed within the heart of the earth. A desperate fighter struggling for its life, it proved to be much more than any ordinary simulation. This specimen was much more dangerous than a common field mouse. The cubs strategically surrounded their target and calculated its moves, much like a tactical squad of soldiers training on a holographic projection. It would require much more than textbook maneuvers and parabolic assaults to take down this teeth-chattering menace. It was time to put their parents' hunting skills into practice.

_The eagles of our world hunt alone to ambush unsuspecting prey. So too shall you join the wilderness, and become fierce hunters for yourselves._

Fortunately, the cubs were elusive and quick-witted, making it very difficult for the muskrat to get a solid crunch on any of them. In a sense, Mother had prepared this final trial as a test of survival. She wanted to see how well her young could handle a potentially dangerous opponent; how well they could integrate both offense and defense into a hunt that required both evasion tactics and precision strikes.

It was obvious to them that a frontal attack wouldn't work - simply put, those powerful buckteeth were to be avoided at all costs. Instead, the five artful trainees adopted a more practical approach: they kept their distance and surrounded the creature, assessing the situation. Each studied the creature's movements, carefully calculating his positional dynamics and reflexes, slickly avoiding the savage melee counterattacks triggered in response to their repeated attempts at a flank attack, and all the while making sure to stay just out of its reach.

The most skillful of the siblings was analyzing the target for a weakness, perhaps a structural vulnerability or a brief window of opportunity to strike and evade before it could successfully retaliate. As their instinct had directed them, all of their beady, adolescent eyes were fixated on that soft, scruffy neck of the muskrat. As is common with all canid species in a hunt, the neck – or any other practical inlet into the target's central nervous system highway – is a primary goal for the predator, because a solid grip here with its specialized canines spells checkmate.

_Now, join the hunt, and embrace your destiny as a solitary predator. Join the wild._

The fearsome, semiaquatic rodent was beginning to falter, evident by the slower reaction times and slipping focus within an increasingly dire peril. The tireless worrying from all five assailants proved to be more than he could handle; it was a losing battle. Every rebound and successful warding of an opportunistic attack from a confident youngster left him back where he started: captive in the belly of the beast, at the mercy of his captors. It was a hopelessly fraught and terrifying dilemma. Lastly, to his immense disappointment, he was unable to keep up with the guile and agility of his enemies. It was abjectly demoralizing to be outwitted by these critters that were significantly smaller than his size. The muskrat's failure to subvert their incessant harassment served to further enrage him, which, although it made him appear more vicious and intimidating, only hastened his demise by worsening his reflexes. The foxes, having sensed this weakness in their adversary, assumed a more offensive formation.

Constantly, the muskrat struggled to focus its attention to at least two of the young foxes, but could not manage to keep all five of them in his field of vision. He unwittingly exposed the back of his neck more frequently, and for longer intervals of time, leaving him critically vulnerable to a blind-sided attack.

The bright red-orange vixen then witnessed the opportunity. _Aim for the neck!_ Summoning all her remaining strength and speed, she essayed a precision pounce. Like she had done with Mother's brush, she acquired her target and left the rest to her dexterous body. With that, she barely managed to get a hold on the rodent's neck.

It was a feeble grip at best; her jaws had incompletely clasped around the spine and she could barely feel her fangs come in contact with that slender vertebrae. She simply lacked the energy and the firm hold necessary to deliver the finishing crunch. Slowly and tenuously, her grip began to weaken, her teeth loosing their vital hold on that delicate piece of anatomy. With one final shake, the muskrat hurled her off its back, liberating that neck from a nearly fatal entanglement.

Intent on achieving immediate revenge for nearly killing him, and, for once, winning a score against these presumptuous fledglings, he directed his focus onto the overpowered perpetrator, whose red-orange form was completely drained. She was paralyzed with fear, as she dreadfully anticipated that this may well be the end of her; for the dental apparatus of a vengeful muskrat would make short work of her slender body.

As he vehemently approached her, she desperately struggled to _move_… it was no use, for she had expended the last of her power. She never imagined, in all of her early youth, that she would end up dying in the same place she was born, at the fangs of some cornered, desperate rodent. _This is the end_, she thought,as the muskrat was just seconds away from landing a solid crunch…

_K-kk-k-kk-crack!_

* * *

The muskrat stood stiffly a few inches before her, paralyzed. As if by some miracle, it then collapsed onto the den floor headfirst, motionless.

"Timely takedown, big brother," she gasped, as she recognized that signature neck-snapping sound particularly characteristic of her strongest sibling.

"Not really," he said in a modest and apprehensive manner, "He left his back exposed for an inordinate amount of time. He must have been really intent on killing you."

He stopped for a moment, tearing into the body's vital organs to ensure its death.

"That was reckless of you, little sister," he continued, "You should know better than to strike _without_ having a confirmed kill on your quarry, especially against such a dangerous target."

The young vixen wanted to argue against this, but then she realized how ungrateful that would be, considering the fact her big brother had just saved her life.

"Thank you for your advice," she replied instead.

"It was a pleasure," he responded, seeing no need not to accept the honest gratitude, and feeling a bit contrite about being somewhat harsh on his little sister.

As the rest of the family joined in the resultant dinner, the other siblings began to converse. Most of their attention was directed towards the close call of their misbegotten sister.

"Nothing like a little precision teamwork," the red-orange vixen's smallest, daring and incisive sister commented, rather facetiously. She was distinguishable by her sharp ears, a defining physical trait that strangely reflected her developing personality.

"And that was _nothing_ like a little precision teamwork," replied the other sister in wry amusement, whose coat had begun to sport a brindle complexion, "We almost lost our sister today…"

She was right: now that she and her siblings were older and more self-reliant, they hunted independently of one another. Being that they are foxes, it is rarely the nature of their kind to hunt in groups. They had operated this hunting drill more so as five opportunistic assailants rather than a collaborative team. In fact, the strongest brother had successfully pounced and killed the muskrat at that precise moment mainly because he saw the chance to; only after the matter did he realize that he had saved his red-orange sister from a grisly and untimely death.

"Please, cut the chatter," stolidly interrupted their smaller brother. His physical talent was also exceptional, second to only that of his bigger brother. Furthermore, his gruff and forthright personality made him much more dependable than his other siblings. Likewise, whenever he spoke, he was always logistic and objective. He prided himself on being a very practical and down-to-earth sort of dog fox: straightforward, no-nonsense, and to the point. "And let's hear what Mother has to say about this."

Mother approached her offspring as they fed. She had been watching their struggle from the front of the den, and yet deliberately refrained from interfering even when the situation appeared most dire.

"Well done," she acclaimed to her young, "It seems all of you managed that muskrat finely, for the most part…" –she briefly eyed her blundering red-orange daughter in a reproving manner- "and it seems you are all ready to go on a _real_ hunting trip tomorrow morning. I proudly commend all of you on your tremendous successes so far, seeing that all five of you have survived up to this point. However, do not rest on these laurels… greater challenges lay ahead of you in the near future."

She paused for a moment, gazing over her more mature offspring, tenderly recollecting the memories she had of them being the five, mewling little fur bundles she fondled within the depths of this very earth, only several months ago. Together, and with her mate, they had done so much together, having watched them develop, physically and cognitively, day by day. She thought of all their achievements so far, very satisfied with this recent milestone accomplishment. She wanted them to be aware, however, that this was only the beginning of a long and perilous journey, one that will probably to end in a tragedy for most.

"Please, enjoy this meal tonight," she added, rather softly, "It may be your last one for a long while, until you get well situated with the wilderness tomorrow. I really hope that all of you survive…"

With that, she departed with her mate outside of the den, to discuss some important issues with him. After they were finished, the siblings rested comfortably, lying atop the dry soil floor. They embraced what they knew to most likely be their last moment together in the den, brothers and sisters all.


	4. IV: The Crucible of the Wild

IV: The Crucible of the Wild

She can still recall her first day of serious hunting outside the den as a member of the family… It was cold, it was humid, deathly quiet. Nothing at all like the simulations in the den. Of course, she reckoned, that's pretty much the way it was for all of her littermates, wasn't it? All that breeding, all those weeks of training… it doesn't really prepare one for all the hidden perils or the horrors that lie just beyond the forest's edge, sheathed behind the laurel thickets, does it? Frankly, she was amazed she ever made it through the first day, never mind the first week.

* * *

It began as they were led out into the wild in the wee hours of the morning, when the sky was still pitch-black and the bright, pale moonlight cast an ominous web of shadows projected from the trunks of firs, cedars, junipers, and oaks cluttered at the edge of the forest. Their pitch-black silhouettes skewered the fields like black bars, diverging into dark tendrils that slithered ominously across the rural landscape, devouring everything in their path. It was haunting to observe how, in just an hour, the skies would turn saffron and the edges of the forest would be teeming with life. The eminent emergence of an abundance of fresh scents and audible wildlife activity: the resonant chirping of songbirds, the soft yawning of pheasants, and the covert frolicking of mice and rabbits leaving their holes in the early morning to stretch and feed. It was an ideal environment that supported the livelihoods of these creatures–and their natural predators.

"All right!" called the adult vixen; her once glossy red-orange coat was worn and ruffled from summer molting and excessive abrasion. The smooth snow-white fur carpeting her creamy belly was grossly tattered with missing patches, evident of months of unregulated indulgence.

"Your simulation days are over, younglings. This is a _real_ hunt. And if you mess up, you'll really end up in a world of hunger and pain. Now get out there!"

The family was separated into two groups, the larger of which the sprightly red-orange vixen was allotted to. Mother had planned to depart from the rest of the group a little earlier with her two other daughters, whose slower development she felt necessitated her special attention.

"Remember," she asserted to the remaining members of her brood, "we're going to split up for the hunt, but I'll meet you all at the rendezvous point in the glade. Your Father will instruct you further in that regard. He is within your vicinity. You shall be coming up on him shortly. Until then, I'll look forward to seeing all of you… my little ones." She waved her muzzle in a sideways gesture, beckoning her daughters to follow. Then, in a flash, they were gone.

The red-orange vixen was left with her two stronger brothers, both of who she had always looked up to and felt reasonably comfortable in their company. The three of them stood for a while, feeling a little nervous from the quiet and sustained stillness, having been deliberately left alone by their mother for the first time. However, this tingling sense of uneasiness was abruptly dispelled, for they were overtaken by the presence of a paternal figure whose nearness had always brought them a warm feeling of security. A familiar voice let out, calmly.

"Welcome to the wilderness, younglings. It's nice to see she's finally removed you from the simulations."

He began to lead them to the peaceful glade situated a few miles from the den's location, a place he had often frequented himself whenever he wanted some rest and relaxation from the cumbersome family affair. The accompanied fledglings listened to their father expatiate on the subject of survival as they bounded through grassy fields and forestry.

"My name is Vulpes," disclosed the dog fox, "And, as you all should know by now, I am your father. I have been assigned as your secondary advisor, and will be your eye in the sky until further notice… or we all get _killed_."

His progeny listened in on him intently, trying to absorb every ounce of advice. Opportunities to learn from their experienced father were extremely rare within the context of their lives, considering the fact they sparsely saw him throughout most of their cub hood.

"…Once we have reached the glade each of you should split up and go your separate ways. Remember: your primary objective is to survive for the next week, but your _immediate_ objective is to find a food source and fill up. Accomplish this through whatever means you see fit: be it hunting, scavenging, or foraging," he continued, instructively, "Use everything you've learned up to this point to get results."

Just hearing these instructions evoked their hunger, it dawned to them that they hadn't anything to eat since that muskrat last night, which was partitioned amongst the five of them. It was already evident in the fact that her two brothers, and even the young vixen herself, were beginning to salivate.

"Also," asserted Vulpes, "Please respect each other's caches. If you have any disagreements or conflicts amongst one another, then, for the family's sake, please settle them peacefully."

* * *

The foursome continued their journey across the woodlands, an old-world mixture of conifers and deciduous trees and birches, and their arrangement satisfyingly untidy and natural. Vulpes took the lead, using an ancient animal highway whose path had been ingrained in the memories of the forest's inhabitants through generations, for eons of time. Their pattered cantering crunched the decaying floor bed, blanketed with yellowing and reddening leaves, which told of the changing seasons. With sharp noses and erect ears, the young foxes acquainted themselves with their world and its richness, for all of its scents and sounds, its firs and balsams.

"Okay, we're near our destination - look out!"

They were only minutes from approaching the remote glade when Vulpes, having detected some foreign scent in the air, abruptly decelerated his trotting to a steady tread, and then paused in front of a suspiciously overturned patch of topsoil that could easily be mistaken for sod. The others, who were just moments before stepping over that same piece of turf, skidded to an abrupt halt.

The dog fox, however, could notice the scratched **V**-shape of torn earth, which was characteristic of another fox's cache: its apex in front of a thistle and its sides directed away towards a nearby copse. However, instead of unearthing the **V** and investigating its contents, he approached it with an extreme degree of caution that outwardly appeared unwarranted.

Something unsettled Vulpes, and he knew from experience that this was no _ordinary_ cache. It was a slight whiff of some foreign substance, the way the surrounding turf was so flat and smooth as if a canvas tarp had been laid over it, or just how the cache had been situated that simply seemed too obvious, too textbook. Vulpes concluded that Man was involved. The red-orange vixen and her brothers, having never experienced anything like this, didn't know what to make of the situation. Instinctively, however, they sat and observed.

"I will be providing you with support and useful information as necessary. Like, for instance…"

Vulpes suddenly turned around and started the laborious process of forcefully digging with his forepaws, as if he spontaneously decided to create his own cache adjacent to the one they were observing. He had positioned his body so that the clots of grit and soil he dug out landed onto the mysterious cache. The three followers, albeit surprised, were nevertheless perplexed by this sudden industry. Nearly a minute of digging had passed when they began to worry if something had gone disturbingly wrong with their father, then suddenly…

_Snap!_

Suddenly, as if a demo charge had been set off, there was an explosion that scattered bits and pieces of dirt projecting in all directions. Something had shot up through the loose dirt like a maw, clasping its jaws with that terrifying noise. Reflexes kicking in, the three observers synchronously bolted up into the air and landed on all four feet, fleeting away like thin flickers of light. It was only seconds afterwards were their fight-or-flight instincts allayed, having realized that neither of them was being pursued and that their father, nonchalant and confident in his safety, had not moved an inch from where he had been digging. He continued:

"…These metal foothold traps will bring you a slow and painful death. Please try to avoid them."

The three turned around and eyed Vulpes very closely. They were surprised to find him completely fine and unscathed. The idea of something springing out of the ground only to snap once and give up its chase completely, unable to pursue a potential victim that is standing only six feet away from it, was completely foreign to them. The directed their muzzles towards the miniature crater left behind from the explosion, searching for the perpetrator. From what they could see, it appeared to be two artificial jaws made of this hard, unyielding substance, attached to a chain made of more of that substance, which was then nailed to a wooden stake in the ground. The bravest of them approached the unresponsive object and nosed it a bit, sniffing the cold, hard material that is iron. Once he was convinced that the device was indeed lifeless, the others joined in to inspect.

The younglings were entirely baffled by this insidious and unseen enemy. They could not comprehend, if something so deadly and well hidden could ambush an unsuspecting creature, why it restrained itself to a static position on the ground. Furthermore, they had been told, in all of Mother's lessons, that everything that would try to hunt them in the wild was _alive_. It was apparent that, unlike her mate, Mother had little to no experience in dealing with the treachery of Man. The concept that an inanimate object could catch and hold its prey indefinitely was an academic one at best, inapplicable to the understanding of a wild animal. Nevertheless, these young students acknowledged that there was still much for them to learn about survival in the wild.

"These traps aren't designed to kill you," Vulpes asserted, "but instead hold you down until something else can." He recalled the tragic memory of his long lost brother, who suffered an agonizing death under the endless torture of the unrelenting jaws, which only bore deeper into his flesh as he struggled to escape. Vulpes then could only watch as the trappers arrived to claim their victim, just before he had to slip away into the leafy shadows of his birthplace…

"Please be careful when treading into unexplored or unmarked territory, and be especially wary of overturned dirt or crushed thistles and grasses," he added. Before continuing towards the glade, Vulpes contemptuously urinated and defecated on the whole affair, which he knew could have easily claimed the life of one of his own kind.

"Also," he continued, "Please note that, as a general rule in life, if something seems too good to be true… then it most likely is."

He warned them to be wary of easy findings, especially those that were discovered out in the opening, like the false cache he uncovered. Depositing that well-found knowledge into the bank of their memories, the three reached their destination. Vulpes stopped and turned around, facing his brood attentively.

"I will be monitoring your progress from here on out. As you may already know, your mother is closely watching your other two sisters, who are currently hunting in a pasture not too far from here. They will return to this location by the end of the day. If you need anything specific, please feel free ask either of us for assistance, when we're in your vicinity."

Vulpes paused to scratch his muscled body with the fluidity of a cat.

"However," he added bluntly, "don't expect any handouts."

The glade was a quiet place; a peaceful break of flat greensward within the dense brushwood of the forest carpeted only by a few thistles, brambles, coneflowers, and honeysuckle. It was an ideal setting for an afternoon slumber, especially because a soft mound in the center served as a great vantage point from which a fox could detect any incoming danger from the edge of the woodlands that ringed the glade.

As the three scanned their surroundings, their hunger, which had augmented their urge to kill things, was now insurmountable. Just within the wood's edge there were mice to snatch up whole, rabbits to pounce, and woodchucks to tear apart.

"Remember," Vulpes conferred logistically, "the objective remains: survive this week outside the den on your own accord. I will be issuing further recommendations as you go. Good luck out there."

With that, he faintly slid off into the shadows of the woods surrounding the glade's precincts, his fatherly presence phasing out of their view in the same manner it had entered. The adolescents immediately acknowledged this prompting and went straight into the new business of hunting independently.

* * *

Over the next several hours the fledgling hunters practiced their craft, prudently investigating all the properties of this entertaining world. They understood the importance of concealment and patience within their practice: in creeping up upon a wood mouse discovered from a distance, lying in wait for long moments at a time motionless behind the juniper-bushes, and then springing triumphantly upon the tiny gray victim. They all seemed to inherit a keen endowment of ancestral knowledge; that innately acquired proficiency in the art of stealth and swift killing, which goes by the name of instinct.

As a general rule, wild creatures do not maintain their focus on any one purpose for long. Having well supped after the long ordeal of hunting, the red-orange vixen took to exploration on her own for some time. Not very far from the enclave of her familiar hunting grounds she froze, motionless, staring at the ground. A trail of solid footprints told her of some animal whose stupendous size and stature embedded huge depressions into the loose soil. Especially near the center of the great tracks clung the residue of a strange smell that of which could not be identified amongst the forest kindred. What kind of creature with such feet could be roaming their wilderness? It behooved her to find out all about it, and perhaps learn to avoid encountering such a monster. Perhaps this was related those metal jaws she encountered earlier? Having had considerable time to ponder these queries, she decided to discover for herself what business was taking place here in the woods.

The trail took her outside the enclave of her familiar hunting grounds to the fringe of her parents' range. At length it came to a terminal, which crossed a well-marked runway of a neighboring fox. The forest mulch was trampled and compressed at this point, which narrowed into a small space enclosed by a thick bush on either side. At the end of this enclosure lay the frozen head and neck of a chicken.

Never before had she seen such a dainty morsel, but whatever it was, it smelled deliciously tempting. Had she the equanimity of her father, she would have yielded more caution, especially due to his warnings about unexpected blessings scattered generously about the forest ways. However, her curiosity and raw instinct got the better of her, and she investigated the prize intently.

Using her father's take-home lesson from earlier, she crouched, warily scanning the surface surrounding the morsel for any disturbances. She found none; the chicken had been placed squarely on the floor without overturning any earth. Sure of her safety from any foothold traps, she stood up and resumed her approach, walking right in.

"Wait-!" cried a recognizable voice, which was too late.

_Whip_

While she succeeded in ruling out the threat of any foothold traps within the vicinity, the vixen had failed to notice a bright hoop of copper wire faintly gleaming before the green fir-twigs. There was a sudden snap of the strong and malleable material, and then a terrible grip clutched her. She instinctively jolted, but was stopped in her tracks, unable to move forward as a stick of white birch bent towards her. Fear rattled her throat as she turned her head to identify her lifeless assailant.

Into the clearing from behind the bushed appeared another fox. It was Vulpes. The old fox sighed deeply as he approached his imprudent daughter.

"You have no idea how fortunate you are…"

Indeed he was right: the snare, which was designed to strangulate its victim around the throat, had instead wrapped around her right foreleg. While the girth of the loop tightened to the diameter of her foreleg as a result of the pressure from her jerking, it was still possible to slide out in reverse. She realized this after minutes of fruitless struggle in the forward direction, and escaped death with only the abrasive discomfort of losing a slight amount of fur ruffled from the bristles of her right foreleg.

"Have you learned nothing from what I say?" said Vuples, disappointed.

"No, you see that I was following this path and…" she was interrupted by a reproving nip, followed by a stern scolding from her father.

"I fear the day you might get skinned for your carelessness… You can't just go around searching every tidbit you find _without_ a thorough investigation. Didn't you notice how oddly the food had placed at the center of this strait? I was proud to see you inspected the perimeter for footholds, but you failed to detect that snare." He faltered. "I- I should have stopped you earlier."

She was astounded by her sudden enlightenment of the fact that her father had been trailing her the whole time, watching. He deliberate abstained from interfering as a test to see if she could manage on her own against the deceptive trap she had discovered. Needless to say, she failed him.

"I'm so sorry… I didn't know."

"Never mind that - let's just head back. I hope you've learned a valuable lesson today…"

He conceded the prize to his daughter, which she gobbled down greedily, and then led her back the pathway from which he came, outwardly expressing his morbid disapproval. Deep inside, however, the old fox was trembling. He almost lost a part of himself today, which was spared by the pivotal caprice of destiny that is luck. He had his doubts about whether Fate would be so lenient in the near future.

* * *

The remnants of late summer still lingered, floating over the fields like a fading breeze. The dry, rustling grasses were alive with bugs, which hum, click, and crackle, and make amazing leaps between blades and stalks that are insect-miles apart. Grass snakes, being ectothermic reptiles, basked on baked clay prior to seeking out the nests of hay where field mice were panting in suspense. Finches hopped about the patches of turf in search of discarded seeds, meticulously eyeing every orifice within the loose soil. These fields were thriving with life, an abundance and variety of specimens available for those with the patience and discipline to study closely. In the eyes of a fox, anything that was large enough to cause a conspicuous twitching of grain strands from beneath the tufts of grass was sure to be a square meal, not to mention an easy kill.

Being covert hunters, the foxes preferred silence above the clamoring voices of the forest inhabitants. To them, silence was the music of life. It was through silence an experienced fox, using its exceptional auditory senses, could detect the faint grinding and gnashing of an industrious rabbit as much as a hundred feet away. Taking advantage of this trait, alongside a superb sense of smell almost comparable to that of a bloodhound's, each of the fledglings busied itself, working independently in pursuit of his or her explorative whim, intent on stalking some small creature, such as a beetle, woodchuck, vole, or cricket.

Daytime molted into the night. Having filled her small stomach near its maximum capacity, the young vixen rested within the glade. A couple of her siblings continued hunting into the early morning, but returned afterwards. Mother arrived more exhausted than ever before, with her tagged behind the sharp-eared little vixen and her accompanied sister, whose furry coat had begun to sport a fulvous contour. Mother barely cast one filial glance at her red-orange daughter before finding a spot to rest and succumbing to fatigue.

The young vixen sat upright and gazed into the starry night, reflecting pensively. She had made it through her first day, albeit with a few close calls. Now tired, she retreated into the heart of the glade. After a few minutes of searching, she curled up in a soft depression beneath a juniper bush, partially veiled from the outside world. The stippled glistening of the moonlight filtered through the leaves, partially illuminating her glossy coat, which was now fully developed. Chill drafts surged into the branches, shaking the leaves and fluttering her fur a bit. A shrill symphony of crickets resonated in the background…

The vixen fell asleep. She dreamed fox dreams of her cub hood, which now seemed so far in the past. As the blackness of night enshrouded her, she dreamed of her first few weeks in the dark. She was racing against her littermates down the long, shadowy passageways of the den towards the light at the end of the tunnel. She barely made it halfway before being lifted by the scruff of her neck, then carried back and deposited into the nursery compartment by her glaring mother. She dreamed of her siblings, who were rivals back then, but now…


	5. V: The Sleeping Giant

V: The Sleeping Giant

Throughout the rest of the week, the young vixen lived in the same manner as her siblings: short periods of sustained hunting and foraging separated by long periods of slumbers in the heat of the day and into the night. Although it was still new to her, sleeping out in the open, such as in the glade or amongst birches and pines of the woodlands, was not discomforting at all. In fact, she actually preferred it to a den, for she felt more attached to the forest, more _natural_ and free roaming within its peaceful settings. She enjoyed the woodlands because of its ancient mystique, a sacred aura for which she felt a profound calling. It was truly to become her home.

She loved the cool wind brushing against her coat and the fresh, earthly scent of pine needles and sap in the morning. She also relished the availability of earthworms found within the dew-drizzled mud surrounding the balsams, sycamores and spruces. Vulpes once instructed her on how to correctly extract these delicate creatures from the soil: it required a skilled delicacy of suction within the slurp, for too little would allow the worm to resist and wriggle itself to freedom while too much would snap it into segments, leaving her with only a fraction of the meal she had been working for.

In the company of her father and two headstrong brothers, she quickly learned the ropes of hunting; developing an arsenal of practical knowledge. With each prey species she encountered, she remembered the anatomical diagnostics that were practical in the eyes of a carnivorous mammal: every pouncing strategy, every maneuver. A field researcher could spend months analyzing all the different tactical approaches a red fox might try against each subject quarry with respect to its physical profile and predictable reflexes within the chase: the rabbit, the chipmunk, the vole, squirrel, mink, quail, pigeon, gopher, shrew, stoat, partridge, woodchuck, field snake, pheasant, grouse, duck, possum… there were more.

Waterfowl were especially hard to reach, but could, with some luck, be successfully ambushed near the edges of ponds in the early sunrise. She learned this by observing her smaller brother pounce on an unsuspecting mallard resting on the shoreline of a nearby quagmire. _Just like the simulations…_ he confidently noted to himself. He then dragged the carcass into the depths of the forest by its glossy green-feathered neck, intent on feasting on his prized meal undisturbed.

Rarely did her brothers or Vulpes join the young vixen's personal ventures out into the fields, yet she often accompanied them during hunts at dawn and dusk. Whenever she wasn't completely focused on the hunt or busy unearthing one of her unfinished meals, she would sometimes engage in jovial recreations. She still enjoyed the family's warm periods of respite. Even though she was hard at work and nearing adulthood, she was not indisposed to playing around with her former littermates from time to time.

"How many kills you got today, foxy?" she teased her biggest brother one evening, when the sky had shrouded the surface world in a darkness that suffocated the forms of divergent shadows fingering the forest floor. She felt especially light-hearted and content with her siblings that particular nightfall, having managed to cache enough food to last her until the end of tomorrow.

"More than you, _vixey_."

"Hey, wait a minute!" she snapped back at him. "Can't you come up with a more original comeback? You can't just invent a new word like that."

"Of course I can," he replied, "It's not like there isn't anything banal about you calling me 'foxy' in the first place." The young dog fox chuckled. He liked to entertain his little sister by reciprocating her silly quips. Unlike their disinterested brother, he actually appreciated the young vixen's chiding. He still maintained fond memories of all those times he looked after her when they were littermates. In fact, he had always been there for her when both parents went out hunting. In that respect, Mother had considered him to be the 'third parent' of the family.

"At least I put some thought and creativity into my jest" she stiffly retorted.

"No you didn't. You just mindlessly hurled a cliché. If anything, my comeback is more original and innovative than ever. _Vixey_…That certainly has a nice feel to it. Maybe I should call you that from now on." He let out a jovial, warm-hearted laugh.

"Keep it quiet here, you two. I'm trying to focus," interrupted their levelheaded brother, who was stalking a black field snake. Aroused by the movements and sounds that resulted from their familial discourse, it slithered away into the dense patches of brambles and brushwood.

"Aw come on, brother… we were just having a little fun!"

"Yeah, at the expense of my midnight snack." He was clearly irritated by their carefree nonsense, which had cost him a solid pounce at the scaly wriggler.

* * *

As she matured, the young red-orange vixen profited from all the experiences she shared with her wayward brothers. She could opt to partake in any of the daily activities they engaged in, with one exception. She steered clear of any of man's devices, for which by now she felt a deep-seated and unquestionable fear. Her brothers, on the other hand, who were more curious and less fearful, would instead investigate them. Terrified of losing either of her brothers, she could only watch them monkey around with the foothold traps from a distance, not daring to get any closer.

"Let's see if you can get that thing without killing yourself," the larger brother would say to the other, his nose pointing directly towards the site of an obvious trap.

He was always in a competitive spirit, even when it came to morbidly dangerous activities, something his sprightly sister could not relate to. In fact, he even kept a mental tally of how many foothold traps he successfully disarmed in addition to his kills for the day.

The slightly smaller brother, not so much into the attitude of competition as was his companion, nevertheless submitted to the challenge because he acknowledge the importance of disabling these traps in order to prevent future catastrophes.

"Ok, but keep your distance, just in case," he replied, seeing no reason to put both of them in danger. Following their father's example and starting from a safe distance, he would carefully approach the device crouched, as if it were a proximity mine. Every few moments he would look behind, to receive a reassuring glance from his bigger brother. _Wish me luck!_

They knew to yield extreme caution, especially when nearing it's small but deadly blast radius. To do this he consciously noted a hemispherical volume of space surrounding the epicenter from which the snapping jaws could potentially reach. Once he identified the precise location of the device, he had a few options to choose from as how he would go about safely springing it. He could, like Vulpes demonstrated, bombard the **V**-mark with rocks, dirt clots, other earthly materials by digging nearby. Another common practice was to dig into the side of the **V** and, with a delicate touch, reach under the solid mechanism and give it a flip.

Through whichever method he chose, once he managed to safely spring the trap, he would search below for the source of the alluring aroma that brought him hither. It potency was preserved with a few drops of glycerine. A smoky residue had veiled the alarming smell of human, which was only evident after the fact.

Often times it was some bizarre concoction of beaver-castor, musk glands, fish oil, aniseed, rhodium, worm-oil, skunk essence, rancid butter, chicken liver, and a salmagundi of other things which, to a human, would be the most vile and nauseating pungency ever imaginable. To a fox, however, it was an exquisitely entrancing fragrance; one more pleasing than the greatest a perfumer could create. Fortunately, thanks to their father's lessons, the two brothers learned to identify these tempting odors as death in disguise. Sometimes, if they were lucky, after disarming the trap they would recover a delicately carved ration of chicken giblets or rabbit flesh beneath, which proved an especially fulfilling reward for a job well done.

* * *

While the vixen and her brothers have often fathomed what kind of creature was capable of setting these devious contraptions, they never encountered one until the third day of a weeklong excursion. It occurred under the midday sun at a local marsh, while they were exploring the wetlands and experimenting with its nutritional availabilities.

Their game consisted of frogs, fishes, crayfish, snails, toads, and a wide variety of insects; including dragonflies, mayflies, grasshoppers, crickets, butterflies, and even bees. All of these tiny delicacies could be found buzzing around the vertical stalks of cattails, arrowheads, sedges, and rushes. Toads sat patiently midway, ready to snatch them out of the air with whip-like tongues. The aquatic and amphibian varieties, seen jumping on top of lily pads or swimming underneath them, could easily be snatched right out of the stagnant ponds by the swift dexterity of a fox's jaws. Here they could also feed on some fungi and roots that were edible. Occasionally some hapless bird, such as a swan or swallow, too weak to fight back or take off from the mud, or simply too oblivious to even notice the red-coated marauders paying a visit to their habitat, ended up providing an excellent supplement to their mostly mollusk-and-insect-based diet.

While many of these creatures were strange and peculiar to the young foxes, as they were more familiar with the nearby woodlands and their inhabitants, none of them was as confounding as the one they witnessed on this fateful day. Fortunately, they were with Vulpes that day, and he decided to chaperone their first venture into the marsh. It was a two-legged animal whose hairless and featherless body was loosely covered in heavy fiber-like material that seemed detached from the rest creature itself, as if it wore a second layer of skin, an artificial fur. From downwind it smelled like something neither of the foxes could ever imagine: of smoke, sweat, gunpowder, iron, alcohol, urine, sulfur, salt, and hundreds of other odors, some recognizable, some not, that formed a composite scent unlike anything else.

_What in death's name is that?!_

They immediately took cover behind cattail reeds, agitated by fear, yet immensely curious as well. The creature slowly lumbered over to an oak tree near the water's edge, then sat down and leaned its back against the tree's trunk, drifting off to sleep.

"Pay very close attention," instructed Vulpes, "as you may only have one shot at a lesson like this." The vixen and her two brothers, wanting to learn as much as they could about man, and as safely as possible, laid still and listened intently.

"You're looking at a human being, one of the world's nastiest creatures. Its binocular vision is rated for pinpoint optical focusing: it can detect and identify objects from far away, even ones that aren't moving. However, its auditory perception is extremely poor, and it appears to be incapable of picking up the most blatant trail of scent, let alone small residual traces. Because of their very limited hearing and smelling, you shouldn't be too worried about being detected through proximity alone…"

Learning this eased their tension a bit, and the young foxes steadily approached the human, who was snoring loudly. Even the young vixen, who was deathly afraid of man's devices, crept ever so closely, trying to focus her vision on this bizarre entity. She wanted to ascertain the nature of this creature, and understand why it was so dangerous, why it warranted so much caution and apprehension compared to all the other animals of the forest.

"It walks on two legs," explained Vulpes, "which defines its terrestrial mobility. Make no mistake, however: Man's slow and lumbering form belies his intelligence. While this bipedal mode of traveling does indeed limit its speed and maneuverability, what it can do with its other two limbs more than adequately compensates for this deficiency. Man can operate tools and machinery - they are the ones responsible for setting all those traps and snares you've been encountering lately. Whenever you detect any signs of Man, always remain on high alert. He is capable of deadly ranged attacks with the use of projectile weapons."

As they listened to his brief overview regarding firearms, the three shuttered at the idea of something that could kill them from a distance. Up to this point, they have been told that anything in the wild that was murderous would require physically contact in order to kill them. For that reason, the cubs had learned evasion tactics, undergoing extensive bodily exercises and physical conditioning to improve their speed and agility in the process. As they had with the muskrat, they had learned to estimate an enemy's attacking range and stay just outside of it to ensure safety. All of that was ineffective against those long, shaft-like mechanisms that could deliver death from afar.

"Because of its ability to utilize firearms, the human is nearly invulnerable to any frontal assault, even from the most fearsome creature you'll ever encounter in your lifetime. For these reasons, under any circumstances, one should _never_ confront a human directly. Likewise, one should never underestimate the intelligence of Man. He is more devious and crafty in ways you can't even imagine. He possesses the knowledge a variety of hunting techniques and methods, some more effective than others, which he will employ in an attempt to destroy you and everything you hold dear. For instance, he will deploy his loyal canine servants to tear you apart from limb to limb."

As Vulpes mentioned this, he reminisced over his past glories of successfully evading the hunt; his close encounters with Death. He remember those terrifying experiences panting just meters ahead of the lead hound, knowing full well that any misstep taken by him would result in his evisceration by a pack of bloodthirsty mongrels.

"Even though Man doesn't live in the forest and only comes here from time to time, he is perhaps our greatest enemy," he concluded, "A formidable force to be reckoned with. Always avoid Man at all costs."

Vulpes took a quick, analytical glance at the human, who was fast asleep, his head gradually sliding down diagonally against the base of the tree.

"Fortunately," he said, "this one appears to be dormant and is currently unaware of our presence. Let's keep it that way."

Vulpes wasn't entirely right about this particular specimen, however. The man was neither a trapper nor a hunter, nor did he have any intent on pursing the wildlife inhabiting the marshlands. This person was a forester who was heading home, back to a nearby town, to report his findings for the day. Exhausted his daily exploits, however, he decided to stop by an old oak tree at the edge of a marshy pond. He had spent the past few hours performing his duty of diligently searching for a poacher who was reported to have been illegally laying traps around the area out of season. After removing his leather satchel, unslinging his trusty M1903 Springfield, and resting both of them against the crusted trunk of the oak, he dozed off into the lazy afternoon, succumbing to immense fatigue and the rhythmic droning of blue dragonflies.

_Ribet… Ribet… Ribet…_

Judging by the movement of that emanative croaking, it sounded like a frog was leaping through the tall reeds and sedges at an alarmingly fast pace, as if it were being chased. The young hunters correctly surmised this: the pursuer was yet another fox. Coincidentally, Mother had decided to take her two daughters out hunting in the marshes at the same time Vulpes led his division there. The red-orange vixen immediately recognized her former littermate, with whom she had spent a great deal of time together in her earlier youth. During their frivolous play, she had attempted many times to nip at this sibling's ears, which weren't so pointed back then.

"That's Sharp-Ears over there!" she cried. With incisive nips, her two more sensible brothers silently upbraided her for her careless outburst.

Although none of them were given any actual names by this point in time, the vixen had personally christened her smaller sister as 'Sharp-Ears' for a number of reasons. For one, it reflected both her distinctive physical appearance and her daring, incisive, and unruly personality. She was the kind of fox that would feign unconsciousness in the height of a scuffle, and then opportunistically nip the first sibling to lower its guard when inspecting her. She further employed these foxy tactics during the hunt; it was she who first discovered how easy it was to cunningly engage in unusual and highly visible behaviors, such as through playful gestures and silly antics, to attract the curiosity of her prey before the unexpected pounce.

By now all of them were well aware that their bold little sister was fixated on her quarry, which was headed straight for the forester. Terror wrought their hearts as they anticipated the worst. They daren't approach, however, for they did not want to awaken the sleeping giant, which would only worsen the situation. They tried calling out to her softly, but she was totally engrossed in the chase. This cunning little vixen was outwitting herself, leaping right into a catastrophe. The suspense was mortifying her red-orange sister, who was very attached to her through the fond den memories they shared. Yet, there wasn't much she could do to help, nor was there enough time.

_Splat!_

The frog landed straight on top of the forester's face, rudely awakening him. With a guttural growl, he let out a vile expletive after throwing the slimy runaway off his face. He was then overtaken by a soft thumping on his thigh, and, looking down, was surprised to discover the young vixen had landed right into his lap.

The little vixen, intent on catching that frog, did not notice the still-seated forester until it was too late. Shocked by the surprise she had gotten herself into, she immediately attempted to disengage, but was again too late. The man grabbed her by the scruff of her neck in utter bemusement, and lifted her above the ground as he knelt to stand up.

"Sharp-Ears!" the red-orange vixen called, frantically. She panicked, thinking of a way to save her floundering sister, who was being suspended above the reeds and grasses on the end of a strong-looking arm. The captive turned her head over to bite at the wrist holding her, but to no avail. The thick leather glove, which firmly clutched her scruff, shielded the man's flesh. All she could do was squall and shriek; calling out to her family whom she now noticed was watching her in despair.

"Help me!" she wailed, hoping for some miracle to occur. As the grip tightened firmly around her neck she turned and snarled, "Why, let me go, you-!"

Despite her desperate efforts to squirm and gnaw, the calloused arm wouldn't yield. It was to no avail: she found herself held prisoner by a bearded gentleman clad in a burlap-green trench coat and dark leather boots. For nearly a minute he knelt and carefully studied the possession of his outstretched arm, deeply fascinated by such a creature he felt very fortunate to have captured. He then finally got up, collected his gear, and started treading off towards a known path that led to town, careful with his hold as to not strangle the prized specimen.

The rest of the family was helpless to give her any kind of support. Each of them was shocked at how quickly it all happened. One moment they were learning about their greatest enemy, the next moment an act of sheer folly had resulted in their little sister's abduction by a human. They could only watch as she was carried away into the depths of the surrounding forest, in an unfamiliar direction towards some unknown location. Her fate remains a mystery.


	6. VI: The Killer of Autumn

VI: The Killer of Autumn

The red-orange vixen panicked as she picked up the strong trail of her sister's fear-scent left behind. She frantically paced back and forth in the grasses, attempting to garner some thought, some remotely plausible solution to save her hapless sister, no matter how incoherent it may have been.

_She's still alive!_ Faint glimmers of hope raced through her brain._She can still be saved!_

There still existed a vague idea within her that if she could get to the man who held her sister, then she might have a chance, but it was against her nature, the nature of a wild thing, especially a fox, to launch a frontal attack on any human. Moreover, the instinct to run away, rather than pursue, strongly coursed her nerve endings. She tried her best to resist this, attempting to round up her brothers and father for support. Perhaps if they worked together she may indeed have a chance.

"Lost her scent trail, sis…" reported her smaller brother. He was pursuing their sister's terror scent with what he judged to be the minimum safe distance from its source.

"Well then find it again, darn it!" she screamed. Her attention turned to the rest of her family, namely her two brothers. "Let's regroup. We're going after Sharp-Ears."

"_Negative_, negative, young vixen!" declared Vulpes, to his daughter's overwhelming disappointment, "We need to clear the area! Evacuate _now_!"

"What-!?"

"That human knows we're here, he might come back with more of his kind to hunt us down. Pursing him can only result in further casualties. I know this may be hard to accept, but we may never see your sister again. We need to stick together to survive."

"Vulpes…!" she cried.

It was the first time she had ever called her father by his actual name rather than the title. She had hoped that this new emphasis would invoke a change of heart in him, perhaps a surge of new understanding between father and daughter. She was terribly mistaken in this wishful thinking. A heavy weight fell on her heart as she was taken aghast by his adamant stare, whose glazing eyes bore deeply into her breast with a cold and unyielding resolve. He barked at her like never before, with such reprimand frighteningly uncharacteristic of his formerly easygoing nature.

"Get yourself under control! One vixen is not worth jeopardizing an entire family operation."

"One vixen?!" she said, turning to face her brothers intently, "He's talking about my littermate!" A sickening feeling overturned her stomach.

"Yes," Vulpes firmly asserted, "and she's my daughter too… I've already lost one today, and I sure will not stand to lose two."

"How can you be so heartless?"

"This has less to do with the heart," he continued, "and more to do with the brain. If you can recall from our first lesson of life in the wild, we taught you that survival is of paramount importance. Rule number one: self-preservation comes before all else. And there is absolutely no place for heroics in this matter, _especially_ for our kind."

"I don't care if Mother herself would agree with abandoning her own daughter…"

"As a matter of fact, _she_ _would_. Now get your scruffy little coat back over to the rendezvous point _pronto_- that's an imperative!"

"Screw imperatives! We _have_ to go back for her!"

"I'm not going to argue with you," he said. Having had enough of this, Vulpes bolted out of the marshlands and melted into the edge of the forest, heading in the direction of the glade. He couldn't bear to look back, expecting the others to follow. He knew full well that at this point it was beyond his power to forcefully direct his family to safety. He did everything he could, and hoped for the best that logic would get to them.

A stagnant silence surrounded the nearly-adult foxes as they stared onwards, watching their father disappear into the deep woods. The vixen then looked to the smaller of her siblings. "Brother?"

"He's right, sis," he responded impassively, "We gotta evac."

"I can't believe we were born from the same litter," she replied disdainfully, scolding him with an icy stare.

"I could easily say the same to you," he retorted, _coldly_.

She was getting frustrated. This was no time to quarrel with her gruff and insensitive brother. _Uggghh_, she thought. Of course I can never rely on _him_ for any brotherly support.

The young vixen then turned around with her forepaws crossed, hunched upright in a pleading stance. Her eyes lit up as they dawned upon her other sibling.

"Come on, big brother, we don't need his help. You and I can do this together, just like old times!"

The young dog fox stood silently for a moment. With an anguished sigh, he turned his head and looked his little sister directly in the eyes. "I don't know how to tell you this…" -her mouth fell agape- "…but I'm afraid I'm going to have to second him on that as well."

The vixen played like a statue for few seconds, her hind legs and haunches palpitating under immense stress and hysteria. An resonant chirping echoing from the forest canopy broke the silence, and finally she snapped.

"But she's still alive, I can smell it, _she's still alive!_" she screeched. A paroxysm of trauma and frustration burst within her, and she ran in circles around her brothers, squalling and shrieking. She paced back and forth erratically, repeatedly baring her fangs and snarling at them as if they were enemies. There were multiple instances she threatened to bite them, feigning belligerence, coming close but never actually going through with it. It was as if she was trying to get something out of them, just any sign of recognition from either of the two. Both of the brothers just watched, awkwardly, and endured.

"We _have_ to go back," she pleaded, "maybe we can do something!"

She eagerly looked up at her larger brother again; as if he never rejected her plead to begin with. Her rationality had left her, and she lost touch with reality.

"You know I cannot allow that," he said.

"What? Not you too, big brother!"

"Okay, let's face it: that thing is more than four times my size, and could easily crush either of us with one of its trunk-like legs." He paused for a moment, as to put some deep thought and delicacy into how he was presenting this to his fragile little sister. "As much as I'd like to help, I'm afraid there's nothing we can do-"

"So you're abandoning her as well," she interrupted, "And here I thought you were the strongest of the family, the bravest…"

"You need to understand that being courageous and being suicidal are two entirely different things."

"I always looked up to you, you know."

"And I'm glad you did. Especially now, because this is an excellent example to follow." The vixen cringed and shuttered, as if every word that came out of his mouth pounded on her stomach. Each sentence stabbed her insides like a feather piercing her heart.

"I'll never forgive you for this, big brother." She turned to her smaller, more levelheaded brother. "Neither will I forgive you, or Vulpes… We're a family, for goodness sake…" She turned around in the opposite direction and began to tread away from them, deliberately showing the cold shoulder.

"And you don't need to." The young vixen froze in her tracks as his voice rang out and shot her in the back. "I'd much rather prefer that you direct your anger and anxiety towards me - even if it lingers between us for the rest of my life - than to have you to go out there and get yourself killed." These last words broke her completely.

Having lost all hope, she drooped her head down, drowning in an overbearing cocktail of despair and disappointment. He approached her and spoke softly before her visible anguish. "Look, vixey…

"Don't call me that!" she screamed.

"…I know you're upset and we may never see 'Sharp-ears' again, but you've still got your entire life ahead of you… I loved her as a sister just as much as you did. Unfortunately, she's gone now and we need to move on."

Future hindsight of this event made her appreciate her big brother even more, for she would later come to realize that he was trying his best to console her, despite the fact she was presently inconsolable. There are very few dog foxes who would actually do that, especially at this age. By now she was very hurt, her ears folded backwards behind her broad forehead. Reality was slowly returning, and it rained upon her in a torrent of ice water dumped from a rusty iron bucket.

"More importantly, you need to understand your place in this world. Humans are dangerous beings, capable of death and destruction on a level that transcends all other animals. Regardless of the situation, we foxes have no business pursing such a formidable creature."

At last, she admitted defeat. She felt it herself, too. The instinct to survive, the denial of one's body to perform any actions that may threaten her existence, still blocked her like an invisible barrier. She thought she might have been able to override this instinct if she attempted it with a group, like how a wolf may willingly assault a larger animal with the support of his pack. However, that sort of enterprise was well beyond the physical means of a fox, which only weighs around fifteen pounds and is not much larger than an average housecat. Logic finally returned, and conquered her mind and body. Her spirit was broken.

"Come on, let's go back to the rendezvous point. Vulpes will be waiting for us - and so will Mother."

Wracked with immense guild about leaving her sister behind, the young vixen follows her brothers and returns to the glade. The painful reality of being a red fox is that survival must come before brotherhood, or, in this case, sisterhood.

* * *

***This chapter is not complete and will be further updated. I appreciate your appreciation for this work, and look forward to more chapters in the future.**

****I will continue to update this work every month or so (if I can manage), so keep your eyes peeled for more chapters if you're interested…**

**PS: Oh yeah, and bonus points for anyone who got the Cunning Little Vixen reference from last chapter (not that I expected anyone to) :D**


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